Behold the Unloved King (Part 4)

Log Info

• Title: Behold the Unloved King (Part 4)
  
• GM: Whirlpool
• Characters: Aryia, Harkashan, Ravenstongue, Telamon, Seldan, Verna
  
• Location: Tomb of the Unloved King
  
• Summary: The adventure continues, as our intrepid heroes speak with an angelic being about the divine hammer.

GAME: Telamon rolls knowledge/the planes: (9)+18: 27

Telamon looks 'up' at the massive, whirling eyes. His lips move, but he doesn't speak audibly, instead opting to hold onto Lana's hand as his heart rate slows. He blinks, reflexively touching the earplugs and muffs on his head to make sure they haven't gone astray somehow -- then, experimentally, he speaks in his mind. "Sir Seldan, that is -not- very reassuring to hear. In a manner of speaking, obviously."

His full attention on the strange entity, he says quietly in his mind, "Are you what is left behind, my lord? Did you have a name to be called by, before you were entombed here?"

Aryia stops hard at feeling the double tug, before even that sense of touch is flooded away by blazing white in her mind's eye. The whole situation overstimulating and anxiety rippling for even the most stalwart of folks, the mute fully stymied as she tries to look up.

Another voice joins in mental connection. Soft, measured, with a noble and airy twinge. "What in the actual fuck is going on." Completely marred by diction. "Time shit /again/? Fuck me, I really don't want have to beat my own ass again."

A moment passes. A mental sigh of realization passes. "... oh. I can hear you all. Interesting. Uhh... well, at least you know what happens here, Seldan, because I'm sure as shit out of my depth."

Two tugs. Alright. Harkashan slows to a complete halt and keeps his protection active over those present. Ready to protect them from mental ills.

At Seldan's voice suddenly coming through, Harkashan wonders for a moment whether something had gone wrong. They were to hear not, and see now. His blindfold is still there, yet he can see.

Instead of his voice, there's just a gutteral growl from him, even within his mind. No words, just attention upon the being they're all made to see. A furrow upon his brow.

Some might expect that Verna would be accustomed or acclimated to this situation, given the number of extraplanar beings that have invaded, twisted, and/or frolicked within her thoughts. Such expectations would be false, however; even if Verna was among that 'some.'

"What in the angularity of Her Hallowed Hindquarters"

She then becomes aware of still more thoughts within her skull. This then prompts her next thoughts to be of the rising similarities between her mind and a outer-ring Abyss'al brothel. Hopefully not too loudly.

"I would welcome any insight concerning the presednt situation."

A celestial. Cor'lana's hand tightens around Telamon's, and here she thinks/says: "This is... Unexpected in so many ways." Oh, she furrows underneath the cover of her eyes. This is weird. It's odd, because she's used to a telepathic bond of sorts with Telamon, but as angelic as she likes to portray her husband to be... Her husband is a great deal different from a celestial. Much greatly different. (Not that's a bad thing,) she thinks. Which she supposes... She also says, in a sense. Ugh.

"I look to you for direction, Sir Seldan." Because Cor'lana is fully aware that her feytouched self should not be calling the shots here.

Heavenly fire. That's a good way to describe it. The flaming eye and the other flaming eyes rotate in place, spinning before stopping and focusing on each one of you. Seeing into you.

But they don't do anything. They don't SAY anything.

They half-lid, as if they're growing drowsy.

The flames dim.

"That do I not fully know, for the last time I was here, I fell." Seldan's mind-voice is sober, and tinged with sadness and doubt. "That we faced ourselves may have been the error of the me from the other timeline, and very nearly did I similarly err. We are safe, this time, for now, although I can but pray that Reunion is yet sane. The eye we see is the celestial I believed to be here, but it is little more than a remnant. The hammer is here, but it may be that it is all that keeps the Unloved King from the world. If that be so, then I hesitate to move it."

Silence, then, from the mental voice, for several long beats. "Our coming is worth the while, for much more do I now understand, and still more is there that I would understand. The hammer that you guard-" The tone turns its attention to the celestial.

This is a moment for Seldan to figure out. Harkashan lays his hands behind his back, tilts his head down, and awaits the words being spoken. Doing his best to memorize only what needs be memorized.

Though the Sith-makar have long living memories. Especially within their blood.

"Some things do not disappear even when they are dead," Telamon says quietly in that mental connection. "But in that case, we need to leave, Sir Seldan. If we cannot take, or at least make use of the hammer, we will need to find another solution for that accursed dagger. As bad as the blade is, the Unloved King is -significantly- worse."

He takes a deep breath. "I'm not even going to get into the question of time and other timelines. I've dreamed of strange places, and my mentor, the Watcher, has talked about the myriad of probability. But... that's not something we can deal with here and now."

What could those celestial eyes see in Aryia? That's the main thought that bubbles forth from the mute mul'neissa's mind. It's sloughed off, as she didn't particularly care of the other worldly being's opinion. "Hah. That's a good one Verna, I'll have to keep that one in mind," Aryia's mental voice snerks. It has an undertone of waver. Coping humor.

Her mental attention shifts to Seldan. "Ah. Yes. I understand, been there before. But if the hammer is keeping this here..."

Aryia takes a moment to listens to the others. "Fair. If we cannot make use of this, then I'd be in agreement with Telamon-" She looks up to celestial. Lips turn down slightly. "Hey. It's tiring shit, smashing the same thing over and over again. I get it. You're keeping bad shit at bay, that's admirable. Stay awake."

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perform/Oratory: (5)+36: 41

"I have experienced moments of time in a non-liner manner," Verna notes, "and such experience does not make the concept any less confusing and ...alien." It is the best adjective that comes to mind at present.

She then considers their current predicament and hypothesizes. "It could be that the hammer ties the celestial here, or remnants of either. It is possible that the reverse is true and both are bound together and empower their intended purpose. In either case, it its a purpose best continued and I concur; we should not disturb this barrier unless there is certainty it will endure after. Perhaps it may offer further insight by this contact, Seldan?"

Cor'lana frowns. _It's tired._ The idea that Aryia puts forward is sorrowful to her. She finds herself quietly mournful for this celestial.

"O carry on, angelic soul,
O carry on, ennobled one;
Rest will come when it's done,
Rest will come when it's done."

The thought is a gently spoken thing, a sentiment given in the way that Cor'lana simply thinks and breathes, given how fae her spirit and soul is. She hopes it to be a gentle balm, even if it's not a solution. Her mouth presses into a fine line, waiting for the celestial to respond to Seldan.

"Mourners-" Seldan begins suddenly, thoughtfully. "It is in my mind that the celestial sleeps. its body upon this plane is long-dead, but its spirit remains trapped here. Perhaps speaking with the dead will aid us in learning whether that spirit remains sane, or should be left to sleep. If it is sane, it may be able to aid us. If it is not, it should be left to sleep, and we should leave, and swiftly."

A hesitation in the light, clear, and thoughtful mind-voice from the paladin. "I would ask it what should be done with a blade driven mad by the song, as well. It is in my mind to disjoin it, out of mercy, but it will know what is best. Will one of you attempt to speak with the spirit?"

"I could speak with it, if its body is tied here in some way." He remarks to Seldan. "But are you certain this is something you wish to do?" He asks of him. He can sense that hesitation in Seldan's voice after all. There's a longer pause there, as Harkashan considers Seldan's further 'tells'. He can't truly see this being. Not truly. So the best he can do in that moment, being the one in the 'rear' with the rope, is step forward and kneel. Taking out small bits of materials and laying them to the ground. Being blind is still very uncomfortable to him - even if he can 'see' this version of reality. He has to shift his spell as well, going out of his way not to pray to the Deathsinging Dragon to let them speak to this being. Trying to draw on the motes of Divine empowerment within himself instead.

GAME: Harkashan casts Speak With Dead. Caster Level: 13 DC: 20

"If I'm not mistaken, the spell should provide enough insulation that Hark or Verna will be all right asking it questions." Telamon's lips quirk. "Of course, there's the small matter of the missing body, but then celestials... there's not as much differentiation between the body and spirit. This fragment might be enough."

He can't look at Hark, not while blinded and deafened, but his mental voice becomes tighter. "If this starts going sideways though, drop the spell."

There's a sense of something stirring. A presence.

Harkashan's spell has made 'contact', it would seem, now you need but ask questions.

The blazing eye opens again. Perhaps it sensed your action. It stares at you.

Harkashan rumbles, "It came to us willingly." Believing that those words might at least provide some comfort. "Seldan, go ahead and ask what needs to be asked. You have six." He explains.

Aryia's attention shifts to her friends; this is their area of expertise. Something she truly didn't want to goof up. Did the spell go off? She couldn't hear anything except the other's voices and-

She 'looks' back up to the eyes. She stares back. This wasn't a time to wilt, no matter how her knees tremble.

Cor'lana doesn't wilt either. She looks at Seldan, taking a deep breath. Six questions. She trusts him enough to know what to say and what's going on.

For the moment, like her husband, she prepares for the worst.

Mentally, there is a near-audible deep breath from the paladin, in that light, quiet, firm, cultured mental voice. "My thanks, Mourner." He keeps his words short, and turns his attention to the eyes, tone respectful, even, sober, and very, very firmly controlled. "How can intelligent weapons that have heard the Unloved King be destroyed?"

There's a sound, like a hammer being drawn across stone. A vision fills your minds of a great, shining, golden hammer strike. No doubt the weapon you've come here to seek.

As expected. Seldan's tone does not change, only his mind voice audible. "Is the hammer to which you refer the one that is buried here?"

There's no vocal response, instead, one gets the general sense of assent instead. A vibration. A vision of a hammer, head first, crashing to the ground. Relentless Thunder. That's the name.

"Is is safe to remove Relentless Thunder from this place, or should such weapons be brought here to be destroyed?" Seldan's next question holds tension amid its thoughtfulness.

All of you see the response, same as before, within your minds. It seems it does not speak in sentences, but rather, images. Pictures.

A swirling dance of phantasmal, ghostly outlines. A hammer strike between them. An hourglass. The sands nearly run out.

Seldan's mind voice suddenly goes dark. "The hammer contains the dance, but will not be able to do so for much longer." Although he does not say it, the tone is clearly laced with _oh shit_. "How can the Unloved King be finally destroyed for once and all?"

There's a sense of ... resignation, as if the question has been awaited.

Symbols arise in your mind. Unfurled parchment, a contract signed. A mirror. An ivy covered gateway. A banquet hall, wherein a figure of towering legend rests on an equally towering throne, his face cradled in his hands as the sounds of his weeping thunders louder than anything in your ears, but you can hear the distant hum of music.

It stops, and this man, this /king/, raises his gaze and rises from his throne and strides towards a mirror, passing through it. The mirror cracks.

Harkashan's brow furrows deeper as the conversations continue. An assault upon his senses as the images keep coming, louder and louder. But behind it, he can sense the sensations of this being. The longing.

"It wishes for freedom." He rumbles to the group. "But its duty commands it to remain."

An audible mental sigh from Seldan, the sort of sigh that can appreciate the sentiment, but the speaking tone, when it comes, remains the same. "Do we stop the Unloved King, you can be freed and released?"

GAME: Harkashan rolls Knowledge/Religion: (12)+16: 28

Uncertainy. It's clearly not even sure that vision is accurate, fully, but none the less, one gets the sense it would see its duty complete if the song is ended.

"Very well," comes Seldan's light, firm mind-voice again. It is not as calm as it sounds in the waking world, but it is generally even. "Is the Unloved King the reason for the cracks in time in this place, the reason that I know that another me has been here?"

Several lines, converging in a single point and then being swallowed up in darkness. One gets the sense that it is confused by the question, even.

Aryia grimaces as the answers come through one after another, but the most recent one gets her to shift on her feet, beads of sweat rolling unseen down her neck. It wants to be free?

Well now she certainly has to help it. No one can hear her cracking her knuckles. But they can certainly hear the quiet yet solid, "Okay."

Harkashan rumbles, looking to Verna, then to Seldan. "I believe between me and Mourner Verna, we could bring it back to full life. Though I am uncertain how much it would appreciate this." He points out. There's a crossing of his arms, a tilt of his head down. "We could resurrect it into a field of Silence. If one could make silence last long enough. For the moment it is brought here, it'll be weak. And possibly could get affected before it can steel itself."

Cor'lana has maintained silence the whole time, her eyes widening underneath the sash that covers her, and her touch tight around Telamon's. But the last question is one that she takes. It is a moment of compassion for the being who is here.

"Noble one, what comfort may we give you while we are here--any comfort at all before we deal with the Unloved King?" Her voice is a gentle thing, a warm thing, for Ceinara's compassion burns within her heart like the inspiration of a new song. One that may threaten to spill out of her if it is what the celestial wants.

Telamon isn't sure -what- they can do with this poor... fragment, trapped in a tomb with the echoes of the mad song closing in. But as Lana speaks, Telamon nods in agreement, his hand in hers. The two of them are as one mind on this. No one should be caged -- especially not this entity, once a creature of the heavens.

"If Relentless Thunder is still here, Sir Seldan," he mentally murmurs, "Could we... well, strike it against something, set up another bit of noise to drive back the song?"

Relentless Thunder is indeed here. One gets the 'sense' that the thunder is eminating from a central point. That would be the hammer, no doubt, but again, there is a flash of an hourglass. Timing.

Cor'lana's question receives a gentle warmth. That is all. Duty is it own reward.

Cor'lana can't help but smile at the warmth from the angel's response. She gives a little nod. "I understand," she says.

Underneath the sash, her eyes shut in reflection. "But the Unloved King's pain is a pain that I know," she says softly. "A pain that is shared by my ancestry. Grandfather--my fae ancestor, the Feathered One, Alud'rigan--he has a curse of loneliness that causes him to weep and go insane if he is left alone for too long. Perhaps... Perhaps they knew each other once? Perhaps they share in this pain?"

Cor'lana takes a sharp breath. "But Grandfather's curse has a cure. It is to be surrounded by those who know him and love him. Perhaps... The cure for the Unloved King... Is to love him. To teach him a new song. He must still live in Quelynos."

Her hands go to the mark on her chest, that curuchuil mark that is her blood pact connection to her grandfather. "I could do it," she says. "No, _we_ could do it. I am not enough on my own, but with everyone here by my side... We could. Should we are willing to go to the fey lands..."

Cor'lana turns up her head towards her husband, seeing him without needing to see him. After all, they've been close enough together now to the point where she could see him in the absence of vision. "Then we go together."

"Such might be possible, Death-Singer," Verna acknowledges the Death-Singer's line of thought, "yet this is a situation far different from mortal remains and souls. Celestials, and other extraplanar entities do not hold the two as separate."

"I would disturb this place not, while the song still lives," Seldan responds at once, the mind-voice this time even, but determined and decisive. "I will venture with you, if you will have me. I, too, would see this one's duty completed, and do we not, I fear the song may escape. The dagger will keep long enough for that. Loath as I am to have dealings with the fey, I shall do as I must to see this done. Not for the first time am I grateful for your wisdom, my lady, but we should begone from this place."

There's a light groan that can be heard through the mental connection. "... I really don't want to go to Quelynos again after last time," Aryia bemoans. Last time involved a certain Queen and stabbing her own fingers out of madness. "But I can't fix a broken heart by snapping it over my knee. Cor'lana's the prime expert on that. But I can do it."

One can swear they feel a boot scuff the ground. "... fucking fey bullshit..." she grumbles.

-To be continued-